


Death's Gambit

by MagdaTheMagpie



Series: Death and Other Vexations [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Action/Adventure, Crossover, Gen, No Romance, No pairings - Freeform, Post Hogwarts AU, The Deathly Hallows, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2019-01-16 10:31:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12340905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagdaTheMagpie/pseuds/MagdaTheMagpie
Summary: Hermione strikes a deal with Death: she collects his Hallows for him and he puts her back with the living, where she belongs. If she'd known it meant a whole lot of time-travel, robbery, lies and fights with Grindelwald himself, she might have reconsidered his offer.





	1. Almost Dead

Hermione had a good life. She had friends, more than she knew what to do with. Hell, she even had fans and a fanclub with official badges. Being a war heroine would do that to you. She a cosy little home where she felt safe and a dream job that took up most of her time. Nothing could have been better, she could think of nothing she could want or need to make her life more perfect at that point.

And then, she died.

Of course, she did. Harry had been right all along. Life was a bitch and she had just been waiting for the most inopportune time to slap her silly. Hermione would be miserable... if she wasn’t dead. No, she would be raging at the injustice and… breaking… She wanted to break something. Destroy something whole and make it as shattered as she felt.

But there was nothing here. Just… darkness. Harry had told her of being at King’s Cross station when he’d died. But here, there was nothing. Why? Because she wasn’t special? Because she wasn’t a child of prophecy that even the stars spoke of? Or so the Centaurs claimed. So what? She would just err into nothingness for all eternity. If she had known this is what death was all about… Well, she couldn’t believe she was even thinking it, but maybe Voldemort had been right about fearing death after all.

“He did not so much fear death as loath it,” a voice whispered in her ear.

She tried turning around, her eyes wide. Only, everything was so dark, she couldn’t differentiate top from bottom, left from right.

“But he went about it all wrong,” came the voice again, from right in front of her this time.

Hermione extended a hand forward but there was nothing there. Nothing she could touch or see. Nothingness was reading her thoughts, whispering to her in riddles and playing hide and seek. Being dead just got even more annoying. She crossed her arms over her chest and huffed.

“Please forgive me,” the voice said again and a blue light shimmered into view. “I so rarely get visitors, I forget my manners.”

The light brightened, becoming more white than blue now, and Hermione took a step back at the vision standing in front of her, although, seeing as she had just died… well, she should have expected it, really.

“Indeed. I am Death,” said the shrouded skeleton facing her. “Hello,” it added unnecessarily with a rattling wave of its bony fingers.

Hermione would have preferred to pass out. Just swoon, black out and when she would have woken up again, everything would be back to normal and she wouldn’t have to deal with… this. But to faint, you apparently needed a pulse, which she most certainly lacked, so she was left with only one option.

“Hello?” she replied, cursing herself for sounding so pathetic.

She’d wanted to say that like she was strong and brave, like the Gryffindor  she was. Instead, she’d sounded like a scared little girl.

“Not so, not so,” Death said, reading her mind once more, which was starting to run her the wrong way. Death was apparently not up to date on the notion of either private space or violation of privacy. “You’re holding up admirably well. I knew you would. That is why I chose you.”

“Chose me?” Hermione muttered. “Is that why I died?”

Death laughed, or she supposed it was laughter, but the sound was rather drowned out by the rattling of its bones as it shook from head to foot.

“No, foolish child. I do not kill. I am but a collector. You killed yourself.”

“I did not such thing,” she protested in outrage.

“You were experimenting with a dangerous mechanism which resulted in an explosion that killed you, ergo, you killed yourself.”

“You… You make it sound like it was suicide. It was an accident. A stupid accident!” she exclaimed burying her head in her hands.

Merlin! She couldn’t believe she had survived a war only to die doing her everyday job at the Ministry. It was so unfair.

“Yes, most young souls like you feel I come too early.”

“So what now?” she asked bitterly. “I move on to the ‘next great adventure’? Is that it?”

“You could,” Death answered, waving his bony hand in the air and clutching the gigantic scythe that appeared there. “Most do.”

Hermione looked warily at the very sharp blade that curved a bit too close to her neck. She knew she was dead but Death must have a reason for having summoned it. Did he need to literally reap her soul then? And would that

“Does that mean I have another option?” she asked, as suspicious as she was hopeful.

“I could be persuaded to offer you an alternative.”

“Well, go on then. I’m listening.”

Hermione was expecting something horrendous, that she could not agree with. Maybe this was just a way Death had to amuse itself: tease the dead, dangle hope in front of them only to realize it is not something attainable at all, unless you agreed to sell your soul. Maybe this was a test, to judge whether the souls were worthy or not to go on the next great adventure. Either way, there wouldn't be another option. Just deceit. But she listened carefully to Death’s offer.

“I need a mortal to accomplish a mission for me in the world of the living,” it explained. “Someone with integrity, courage and intelligence, yet who is powerful enough to overcome the challenges along the way. But also someone who knows the objects I seek. This, you understand, considerably reduced my potential candidates to next to nill. I have been waiting on you, Hermione Jean Granger.”

Hermione’s eyes widened at that. Death wanted _her_ to seek his Deathly Hallows?

“But I can’t… Harry destroyed the Elder wand, he threw away the stone and he’ll never part with the cloak. I can’t take it away from him by force and I won’t steal it from under his nose. It’s all he has left of his father.”

She knew it. Death had just been toying with her.

“Foolish mortal. Do you think you can destroy or lose one of my hallows. They will be found and whole again, and morals will continue to toy with them. I cannot allow this moquerie to continue.”

“So what do you propose?”

“You know of the artefacts’ history, of where to find them and who owns them. I will send you back to the world of the living to a time most appropriate for you to retrieve them. You will not need to steal the cloak from your… friend. You need only gather them and bring them back to me, then I will send you back where you belong.”

“To where I belong? Could you be any more vague? I'm not falling for that.”

Death grinned, or she supposed it was because it always looked to be grinning but there was something about its posture that made it look like it was happy.

“This is why I chose you. Your mind is sharp, mortal, more than most. I will bring you back to just after the moment of your departure and you can stay amongst the living after that, I will not disturb you again until you meet the natural end of your life, that is, if you accomplish the mission. Do you think yourself capable?”

Hermione was sure she could pull it off. Not that she wanted to boast or anything, but she was smart and powerful, and she had the necessary knowledge about the Deathly Hallows. Yes, she could do it. But was it worth it? She would get her life back and die of old age with her friends and family according to Death. It was worth it. The Hallows had not brought about much happiness. The cloak hadn’t even been that vital during the war, they could have used concealment charms or another “normal” invisibility cloak, if absolutely necessary. Yes, they could have done without. Harry would just have to suck it up. Surely, he’d choose her over his stupid cloak if the choice came to that? Wouldn’t he? He’d understand.

“So I find your Hallows, return them to you and you let me go back? It’s that simple.”

Death nodded, his neck giving an alarming creak. Hermione thought it over, of where she would need to go, what she would need to do.

“Can I use your Hallows? While I’m still on the mission? They might come in handy, especially the cloak.”

Death seemed to ponder this since his reply did not come out as quickly as usual.

“You may, but only one at a time. I will not have you become the Master of Death by accident or treachery. That title will die at the close of your mission.” Death hissed, raising one finger in warning. “I will be watching you, little mortal. If you try to deceive me, you will regret not having let go of your grip on life sooner.”

Okay, that seemed fair enough. She wouldn’t be using the stone anyway, and she could juggle between the wand and the cloak if she really needed to, although she’d rather avoid using the wand altogether because of its miserable past. She didn’t want to become known as the latest owner of the Elder Wand to be found in a pool of blood.

“All right. I accept,” she declared, with a sharp nod of her head.

No sooner had the words left her mouth that she felt the ground give way under her while her body became heavier, more real than what it had felt like during her discussion with the grim reaper and before she knew it, she landed hard in a pack of snow with a dull thud.

Hermione let out a small cry of surprise. Merlin’s beard! Hermione took in her surroundings as she got other feet, coughed up snow and brushed the mess off her robes, but there was only trees and snow as far as her eyes could see. And it was _freezing_! Like winter in Scotland freezing. She was wearing what she had at the time of her death… her temporary death, she reminded herself, meaning just her Unspeakable robes, that, despite their thickness and length were far from enough to keep the cold at bay. Not to mention highly impractical to move about in the snow, she soon discovered as more and more clues of snow clung to the brim of her shirts to hitch a ride. She took the time to transfigure her attire into something more adequate for the weather: a tight white leather ensemble with high boots that made walking around easier but kept her camouflaged, and a large hood with a thick scarf to keep her warm. Transfiguration being what it was, she would have to find real clothes at some point but it would have to do. One warming charm later and she was ready to rant.

“Death! Why the hell have you sent me in the middle of nowhere? You haven't even told me which Hallow I'm supposed to look for! Death?!”

She knew she was screaming to the sky like a lunatic but right then, she couldn’t care less. She felt like he was mocking her, but why would he want to make her mission _more_ difficult. If anyone wanted to get their hands on the Deathly Hallows, it was Death himself. They were a constant reminder to him that he had been outwitted by mere mortals.

“All right, don’t answer. See if I care,” she muttered after a while.

Hermione stomped the ground in annoyance. The problem was that she had no idea of where she was. She wasn’t even sure if she was in England, or even anywhere in Europe. She could be in China for all she knew. Maybe Death could not choose where he’d sent her… No, that would be ridiculous. The chances she would have landed in the middle of the ocean would have been far too great if that had been the case. So, he knew exactly where he’d sent her and was indeed having a bit of fun after expense.

“And thanks for the head’s up, you git” she added, thinking of her clumsy landing in the cold snow.

Did that mean there was a Hallow nearby? She’d just have to explore the muggle way until she had at least a little more information. She followed a direction at random, or more or less at random. She wanted to get out of this forest, it was dark and unnaturally silent. She'd came long enough in various forest during the war to know forests were never silent. She found it creepy, which was saying a lot since she had just met Death. She went in the direction where the trees appeared to thin out a bit in the distance, towards the light. O, the irony. Walking in the snow was exhausting and she had no experience with it. Didn’t people walk with rackets? No, that sounded ridiculous, even to her, so she just plowed on ahead and cried out in joy when she found a road. A real man-made road! A dirt road, admittedly, but it meant there was civilization nearby. However, she once more had to choose a direction at random, and what were the chances she'd get it right twice in a row. This was definitely not the way she liked to do things:  groping around in the dark, leaving everything to chance, but she kept on walking. What choice did she have with Death  being such an unhelpful handler. The sooner she accomplished her mission, the sooner she’d be home. A half hour later or so, she heard a rumbling, a voice, many voices, laughing, some singing… Puzzled, she waited in the middle of the road, she could always pass off as a muggle after all. However, she was not prepared for the sight that greeted her. Not at all: soldiers, tanks, guns… muggles, all of them, but they all looked so… old fashioned, especially those uniforms. As if… her eyes widened. It was like the movies she’d watched with her parents about historical films set during World War two but… that would mean she was in the 40s.

 _Please let it be after the war. Damn you, Death! I’ve seen enough war as it is. And why now?_ Damnit, that probably meant she was not in England either. She tried recalling her history lessons but she could be anywhere in Europe as far as she was concerned. On the right side of the enemy lines though, because that man at the front was wearing a costume that was without a doubt inspired by the american flag with the stars and stripes.

“Don’t move!” the man on question shouted while his companions aimed their weapons at her.

Hermione froze. Even if she'd been willing to show her magic to muggles, she couldn’t very well take on a full battalion of soldiers alone while avoiding being shot at. But she couldn’t disapparate discreetly either because she knew no location close enough to disapparate to. Not to mention, these were the ‘good guys’, she didn’t want to hurt any of them... But she was still far enough away that she could run. She wasn’t a great athlete by any stretch of the imagination but she had enough distance between her and these men that she could run and hide somewhere. Thank Merlin she’d thought of turning her clothes into a colour that could easily blend in.

Without further hesitation, she spun around and ran, clinging to her hood in her mad dash up the road. She’d put some distance between them and then go off at a tangent into the woods further up. She heard shouting and cheering behind her but only had time to think of how strange that was before she was pinned to the ground, as if a buffalo had charged then landed on her. Flitwick had always warned them against that, but she’d never thought it would actually happen.

Stunned she was pulled up to her feet and her hood was wrenched back with enough force that the seams ripped. It was the man with the stars and stripes costume. He was staring at her as much as she was him. In fact he seemed just as surprised as she was. How in the world could he have caught up to her? That was impossible… he’d been so far back. Was he a wizard? Had he apparated? No, she would have heard that.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

He had an American accent, she’d guessed that right, at least. But what was she supposed to answer? Oh, I’m just a Brit taking a stroll on the lovely frontlines somewhere in Europe. Would you be so kind as to give me the current date and location? That was not going to go over well.

“Qui êtes vous?” he tried in French this time.

She’d remain silent for now and escape as soon as an opportunity presented itself. And she had to do that without using magic to avoid the intervention of magical authorities. She had no idea how they’d handle someone who didn’t even exist in times of war and they didn't take kindly during that period to witches and wizards meddling in the affairs of muggles.

“Wo bist du?” he asked, more uncertain this time and she thought it might be German.

Out of options, she raised her hands. That’s what you did to surrender, right? He scowled at her lack of answer but seemed to accept her capitulation and after a slight hesitation and a mumbled “Sorry Ma’am.”,  he checked her for weapons, taking out her wand with raised eyebrows. He pocketed it instead of throwing it away, for which she was grateful, then kept a strong grip on her arm on their march back towards the troop of soldiers. There wasn’t far to go since they’d continued their march forward, which was for the best because the man in the costume was unbelievably tall and she’d had trouble keeping up with his long strides, even more so because she had to do so on tiptoes given his grip on her. It was as if he didn't realize their size difference, or maybe he didn't care.

“Only you would find a bird in the middle of a battlefield, Steve,” a man teased.

He looked sickly, his skin clammy and his eyes bright. Hermione itched to cast a healing spell at him. She’d done it so many times to her boys when they’d been on the run during the war, the wizarding war that is, that it had become a reflex.

“Is she with Hydra, Captain?” another soldier with a big moustache asked. He was tall and muscular too, but in a normal human way, not like the one who still had a vice grip on her arm. Captain Steve from what she'd gathered.

“She won’t talk,” the Captain answered. “Maybe she’s just lost and we scared her. Get her up on the tank.”

He let go of her arm and she fell back on the balls of her feet with a sigh of relief  then rubbed her arm to get some feeling back into it. The Captain looked down at her, puzzled at first, before a blush colored his ears, as if he had forgotten about his own height and strength.

“Mademoiselle,” another soldier said with a slight bow as he offered his hand. “If you would kindly follow.”

Hermione ignored his hand and walked past him, going straight for the tank behind them, but she was quickly caught up by two of the soldiers and her dramatic exit was somewhat spoiled when she stood at the feet of the tank, craning her neck to look for a handhold to help her climb up. The Frenchman smirked and jumped on top, using a handle that was too far up for her to reach and offered his hand once more to help her up. She scowled at his smug face but took his hand and was heaved on top of the metal beast. The other man  was British, she recognized that much from his uniform and red beret, and sat beside, snapping a pair of handcuffs over her wrists without a word.

“Is zat really necessary?” the Frenchman asked.  “She’s just a woman.”

The red beret rolled his eyes and made himself as comfortable as possible for a kip. How he could even think of sleeping on a tank when it was so loud she could hardly hear the rest of the men walking around them, she didn’t know. She looked up front, her eyes naturally falling on the captain who had captured her. He stood out like a sore thumb both because of his height and flashy costume. She realized he even carried a shield, a tacky one at that, which seemed really strange because shields had fallen out of fashion since medieval times.

All too soon, they arrived at a camp, and the hundreds of men that walked behind her seemed very little in comparison to the sprawling base in front of her. Their procession was being applauded so she surmised they’d come back victorious from some battle. They looked happy, all of them, despite the cold and difficult living conditions out here in the open. Hermione, however shrank back, it was going to be much more difficult to escape than she had first surmised and she flinched when she caught red beret’s sharp look. Very difficult indeed.

The Frenchman pulled her up gently and looked over the edge of the tank.

“Very clever, James,” he said mockingly, nodding at her handcuffs. “And how do we get her down with zat.”

“Throw her down, I’ll take her straight to Colonel Phillips,” someone shouted from the side.

Throw her down? What was she? A sack of potatoes? Hermione stiffened when she looked over the oversized vehicle. She'd never liked heights. Riding a dragon hadn't cured her of that, on the contrary.

“You sure, Cap’?” the Frenchman asked, looking over the side, as reticent as she was.

Without warning, the red beret pushed her forward and she lost her balance, a cry escaping her. Her eyes had closed of their own accord but she opened  them upon the lack of falling or hurting.

“All right, there?” the Captain asked and she did nod this time, if only because she was grateful he had caught her.

He tugged her by the arm towards a bigger tent, central command probably, but his grip was more lax and his strides smaller this time, which meant she could at least walk with dignity instead of being pulled along like a rag doll. The captain stopped in front of an older man and saluted sharply. This had to be Colonel Phillips.

“I’ve come to surrender myself to disciplinary action,” said the Captain.

Not what she'd been expecting to hear. Hermione wondered what he could have done to warrant disciplinary action and looked at him like he was an idiot for asking for it himself. Whoever heard of anyone asking for punishment. Except Hufflepuffs. Maybe he was a Hufflepuff.

“That won’t be necessary, Captain,” the colonel answered and looked quizzically at her and her handcuffs. “Prisoner? Hydra?”

“I wouldn’t know, sir. She’s not being very cooperative. Found her alone fifteen miles down the road.”

“Are you sure she’s not one of your dancers who got lost wandering off?”

“For fifteen miles, sir? And no, I would have recognized her if she was. Besides, she’s a bit on the short side to be one of the girls.”

Hermione scowled at that. She couldn’t help it if she was so tiny. Blame genetics. She was as much a victim here.

“She seems to understand English well enough. She’ll talk sooner or later. Jenkins!” he shouted, his voice surprisingly loud. A soldier stood to attention. “Take her to the cages with the others. You might have to shift them around a bit so she has her own, though.”

“Yessir!” Jenkins replied and saluted before grabbing her arm and pulling her away.

Hermione wasn’t about to make a scene. For one, it would be completely useless, plus, she might finally get a chance to be alone and apparate elsewhere. She shot an accusing look at the Captain who had captured her though. If he hadn’t run so goddamn fast, she might already have a Hallow in her possession, but now she was at least fifteen miles off course from where Death had dropped her off. He did look a bit apologetic, but then his attention was captured by the pretty lady officer who’s been present in the tent and had all but undressed him with her eyes while they were discussing her fate. She snorted because it was so very typical of men, then let Jenkins prod her forward through the camp like a misbehaving hippogryph.

  
  
  
  



	2. Dashing Through the Snow

Well, this was cosy. Sitting on a frozen patch of grass in what was quite literally a cage, or even an enclosure, given its size. She sat as far away as possible to the adjoining cage, because even though she didn’t speak a word of German, their gestures left little to the imagination.

Hermione had other things on her mind anyway. Back in the colonel’s tent, she had glimpsed maps which seemed to indicate this base was somewhere in the north-easternmost part of Italy, very close to the borders of both Austria and Slovenia in fact. Add to that the fact that the letter he’d obviously been typing out gave the date of 25th October 1943 and she knew exactly which Hallow she had been sent to retrieve, and of course Death would want her to get the Elder Wand out of circulation first. 

However, she had to act fast, because although she knew the wandmaker Gregorovitch should currently be in possession of the wand at the moment, she also knew that Grindelwald was due to steal it anytime soon in the year to come, and she didn’t fancy meeting him. He was, after all, the dark wizard who made Britain quake before Voldemort arrived and made it buckle. She wasn’t sure she could stand up to him. What had Death been thinking sending her to this time in the past? What was the point?

Hermione got back on her feet, needing to walk to shake off the cold that had crept up on her from sitting on the bare earth, and thought it all out, ignoring the calls and jeers from the other prisoners.

_ “You will not need to steal the cloak from your… friend,” _ Death had said. And granted, she might not need to steal the cloak from Harry, but from his grandfather given the date. She’d been fooled. It was still stealing from the Potters. Less personal, but not much better in her books. However, she didn’t have much of a choice, and she had already concluded that having the cloak or not would not have changed their years spent at Hogwarts or the outcome of the war. It had not saved Harry's parents and it had not saved them. They might even get into less trouble over the years without it.

The wand however, was another matter. Dumbledore had defeated Grindelwald while he had the Elder Wand and come into its possession after that victory. How was she to know if Dumbledore  possessing that wand or not would change the outcome of the future in a significant way. She’d read Dumbledore’s unofficial biography and she’d like to think it wouldn’t, because he was already a very powerful wizard in his own right, but she was taking a big chance here.

And how had Dumbledore avoided the Elder Wand’s curse? Was it only because he had never revealed what the wand really was? Or was it because he refused to use it to gain power over others? Those were the only two reason she could find that set Dumbledore apart from its previous owners.

“I went to the zoo once. You remind me of the caged lion I saw there,” came a voice from the front of the cage.

It was the Captain again. She hadn’t figured him out to be the taunting type, but she couldn’t figure out why he had bothered to come all the way down here either. Or was it part of a good cop, bad cop scenario? She didn’t approach and glowered at him from where he’d startled her in the far side of her prison, so he let himself in and approached her instead. She bent her knees, ready to run, not that it did her much good last time, but the Captain held his hands up and frowned when he saw her handcuffs.

“Why is she still restrained?” he asked the soldier standing guard.

He shrugged and tossed the Captain a pair of keys who unlocked the handcuffs before tossing them back at the guard. Hermione rubbed her sore wrists. Those handcuffs actually deserved to be called manacles. They had been cold and heavy, leaving her skin bruised and raw. She felt something heavy drop on her shoulders and looked up in surprise to see he had given her his coat. Alright, he was definitely playing the good cop. She wondered if the colonel would be playing the bad cop after this, not liking the idea of what he might do, but surely, it couldn’t be worse than the cruciatus curse… she wasn't knowledgeable in muggle interrogation techniques during the second world war but doubted she'd enjoy first hand experience.

The Captain tilted his head as he looked down at her.

“I don’t understand why you won’t simply talk to us. If you’re a spy, or even if you’re working for Hydra, as long as you tell us, you’ll be considered a prisoner of war and you’ll be protected by the Geneva Convention. Surely, you must know that?”

Hermione nodded. She hadn’t been educated in the muggle world but she had done her fair share of reading so as not to be totally ignorant of the rest of the world.

“Good,” he said with an encouraging smile. “The problem is that you are, at the moment…” he seemed to think about it, searching for how to best phrase his meaning. “...a non-entity, which means you have no protection at all.”

Hermione took a step back. Was he playing good cop  _ and _ bad cop at the same time? That had sounded alarmingly like a threat. What happened to prisoners who refused to talk during the war. Did the Allies actually torture people? They were the ‘good guys’ but it was also true that the victors wrote History the way they wanted it to be written. The wizarding world certainly didn’t write anywhere that there heroes had used unforgivables to win the war when she knew perfectly well she and Harry had. A shiver ran down her spine at the memories of that war. Not so long ago, not yet happened.

“Hey,” the man said, voice low and soothing while he took a slow step forward  as if she was a indeed a wild animal in the zoo, then patted her shoulder awkwardly.  “I’m not going to hurt you.”

The shivers subsided and her eyes caught on her wand, sticking out of the Captain’s trouser pocket. So close. Now with her hands untied, thanks to him, she could get it back. If only she could distract him… Leaning forward in a surprise hug, she took advantage of his confusion to slide her wand from his pocket to her sleeve, and pulled back to wrap herself more snugly into his coat, giving him a small smile that she couldn’t help from being mischievous. He could make of it what he wanted but she could at least convey her thanks for keeping her warm.

What she had not expected was to see the very manly man turn beet red from a mere hug. He mumbled some excuse and all but ran out of the cage. She hoped the Germans never learned a simple hug was enough to defeat the American soldiers or they were all screwed.

Harry was a bit like that too, now that she thought about it. Maybe it was a thing powerful men couldn’t deal with. She shrugged and sat back down on her patch of frozen grass. All she needed now was the cover of darkness and for the camp to fall asleep.

She didn’t worry about falling asleep herself, it was so bloody cold. She was fairly sure she must have icicles forming down her nose and she was grateful the Captain had given her his coat, especially since it was so big, she could practically fold it all around her. It seemed the colonel’s bad cop technique was simply to let her stew in the cold for a night. It might have even worked if she had not planned to escape right about now. 

The prisoners all seemed to be asleep and her guard had wandered off for a pee or a warm drink. She’d decided to apparate to the only place she could visualize clearly enough to be sure of apparating to without splinching herself or landing in a tree, and she did mean in a tree, not on top of one, although she supposed she might die either way. No, the only way was to apparate to the gates just outside the camp. She could visualize them perfectly and…

CRACK

She reappeared just where she had imagined while the whole camp went into a frenzied panic in their attempt to find the source of the noise in the far end of the camp. Even the sentinels atop the towers on either side of the gate had turned to look the other way, so she started running back the way she’d come. What a bloody waste of time.

She had walked several miles down the road when it started to snow heavily.

“Really? Really? If you wanted me dead, I don’t think you could have ill-prepared me more.”

She had given up on Death even listening to her and her rants against him had grown exponentially as a result. As far as she was concerned, he was responsible for all her misery, including but not limited to, the blisters on her feet.

She thought she was probably far enough away now to do some magic and transfigured the Captain’s coat into a long white coat that covered her almost entirely and cut off the bitter cold wind. She felt like a frozen Cinderella when she had the idea of transfiguring a sledge. Not a bulging pumpkin sledge, but she could do with a small one to get as far away from the military camp as possible before they thought of sending someone after her. She used a moldy log peaking out of the ditch to transfigure into a light sledge before searching the woods for some pinecones to transfigure into huskies. Now she could prove that, yes, sometimes you actually did need to turn a hedgehog into a pincushion. Six fluffy huskies later, she was making good time and all in white so they’d be harder to spot. From the Colonel's maps,she now had a vague idea of the direction to follow and the distance to cover, so it was with a renewed sense of purpose that she hurried her white wolf-dogs forward.

 

She was so hungry a few hours later that she went out of her way to approach a small farmhouse in the wee hours of the morning, just as the sun was rising, unsure of how she would be received. She wasn’t even sure on which side of the battlefield line she was now. She came to a stop in the courtyard and made a round of her sledge and dogs to strengthen her spellwork so it would hold a while longer. The wooden door of the farmhouse squealed open, an old woman covered in several  a layers of clothes peeking out of it, probably to check what all the fuss was about.

Hermione conceded she might have botched the transfiguration of her wolf-dogs, because their barking was slightly off. One of them even sounded suspiciously like a duck, and their fur might be a bit  too fluffy and white, but she had been in a hurry. Still was in fact. It's not like she expected to be graded for her spellwork, but if she had been, it would still have deserved an E.

However, it seemed increasingly unlikely that the old woman would trust her, not in time of war anyway, so Hermione bowed her head, both as a way to greet her and to say she meant no harm. The old woman returned it hesitantly and Hermione smiled at the small victory, then mimed she was hungry. Her host nodded, held up one finger, then ran back in the house while Hermione waited there, casting the warming charm on herself again as it was either getting colder or the last one had ran out again. Hunger didn't excuse taking advantage of muggles though and she couldn’t very well take the poor woman’s food without anything in return. She might not even have enough for herself to start with. Her stomach made its discontentment known again, just as it had kept a continuous concerto of growls for the last half hour, so she dug into her pockets and came back out with her jewelry she had taken off at work at the Ministry, what seemed like a lifetime ago. It wasn’t much: a silver and gold bracelet her parents had given her on her fifteenth birthday, a couple of rings that held no special meaning and a necklace with a pendant which opened up to give the time. A ‘joke’ gift from Harry last christmas because of their use of a time-turner together in their third year and because she now worked on experimenting with time turners at the Ministry. Knowing Harry, she suspected the necklace and pendant were made of gold too but she hadn't wanted to ask.

The old woman came back and approached hesitantly, keeping at a distance even as she offered her a small bundle of cloth. Hermione opened it to find a freshly baked piece of bread, a couple of apples and some dried meat. Salivating with envy, she gulped and smiled at the woman fidgeting in her snowy courtyard, then extended her own hand to offer her one of her rings, insisting when she tried to refuse it by waving her hands frantically. Hermione persisted until the old woman took it with a trembling hand from her palm. Satisfied, Hermione climbed atop her sledge and sped off with a last wave goodbye. 

She ate while her wolf-dogs continued their relentless race towards the border where the three countries met, where she knew she’d find Gregorovitch’s workshop. Fortunately, she didn’t have to worry about water since a simple aguamenti took care of that. It was a shame there wasn’t such a spell for food, Gamp’s Law be damned. She was, however, relieved not to have seen any evidence of a pursuit, but they probably had other fish to fry, this being World War 2 and all. Merlin, she couldn’t believe she was in the middle of World War 2! This was madness! She was dead, she met Death, then she wasn’t dead but was sledding across Europe during in frigging World War 2, running from  _ the Allies _ of all people and about to rob, or maybe even duel, the most famous wandmaker of this time. Madness! Complete and utter madness.

A tingle of magical wards raised the hairs on her neck as she approached a village and Hermione regretfully cast a Finite on her sledge and huskies, but she didn’t want to draw more attention to herself that she probably already had. It was late afternoon and there were quite a lot of people, obviously wizards and witches judging by their garb, walking about the streets despite the snow. She pulled her hood down, because she had no intention of having Voldemort come after her during the Second Wizarding War in his search for the powerful wand.

Gregorovitch’s wand shop was easy to find and she’d read his workshop was just overhead, and his personal lodgings overhead that. Seeing as the two first floors were brightly lit, a warm glow pooling on the snow outside its windows, she was pretty sure Gregorovitch himself was up there. She would just have to wait until the man slept, slip in and steal the Hallow. Easy. She sat on a bench from which she would not be too obviously spying the shop and conjured some bluebell flames to keep her warm, watching the passersby with curiosity while they did the same. She wondered why she was garnering so much attention with her simple white clothes when the people she observed from under her hood were allowed the most outlandish robes which even Dumbledore would have been hesitant to wear. Wizarding fashion had never made sense to her and she'd even been glad that the Unspeakables had a strict dress code so she didn't have to struggle on picking the right clothes without making a wizarding faux-pas.

“I can smell it,” came the familiar whisper of Death.

She jumped slightly and looked to her right at the grim reaper, casually sitting on the bench like he was enjoying his day off at the park.

“Don’t you have any ‘collecting’ to do?” she asked snappishly, because sure, he didn’t bother coming when she had questions or needed help, but he barged in unannounced when she just had to bide her time.

“I am,” Death answered. “Time is not an issue for me.”

“Yes, I’d noticed,” she muttered. “Why 1943 of all times to send me to?”

“I have restrictions, mortal. Besides, I could not send you to your own time for this mission. You would not have had any knowledge of my Hallows’ whereabouts then nor in the later future, but you did possess an extensive knowledge of them at this precise time, do you not?”

Hermione nodded, but she wondered what kind of restrictions Death could have that stopped him from sending her to her present. She asked him as much, not hoping for an answer and wasn’t disappointed.

“You ask too many questions,” he replied and disappeared without a sound, just melting into the shadows. As far as she knew, he was still there. Under the bench maybe? She had a ridiculous urge to look under the bench to find the grim reaper tucked under there with his scythe, trying to keep his bony white toes in the shadows. She snickered at the image her mind had conjured, frightening a couple who’d been looking at the wands on display in Grigorovitch’s shop and watched with some amusement as they scuttled off like she was Death herself.

Hermione waited patiently, first for the shop to close, then for the warm light coming through the window of the workshop to wink out before it was finally turn for the smaller light coming from the small round window on the very last story to shut off abruptly. She waited for another hour, ignoring the impatient huffs and bony fingers tapping she swore she could hear next to her before she finally jumped into action. Adrenaline pumped through her system. Paradoxically enough, she hadn't felt this alive in a very long time. Not that she missed the war, never that, but she certainly did miss the adventures she used to have with the boys at Hogwarts.

Now, however, she had to do something she absolutely hated doing: levitation. It was a tricky business to do to someone else and it was near impossible to do it on oneself, not to mention stupid and useless if you had access to a broom or better yet, a ladder. But there was nothing around here she could transfigure into a ladder, except if she dragged one of the park benches across the street, which would unfortunately be a bit conspicuous when she needed stealth more than anything else. She went about it slowly and managed to reach the little window sill on the side of the house that should let her in the wandmaker’s bedroom. Logically, but she kept in mind this was a wizard's home and thus, prepared herself to enter through the kitchen or toilets.

One disillusionment, concealment and notice-me-not charms later, Hermione slipped into the quiet bedroom after having spent more time than she'd liked unravelling the man’s wards without raising the alarm. He was good with his magic, just not paranoiac enough despite the war raging on outside. Now, where would he keep a powerful, mythical wand? Where would  _ she _ keep it for that matter? Hermione sighed as she approached the bed with the snoring man, because, if she wanted to be honest with herself, she’d keep it under her pillow, and there was the proof she'd been right: the unmistakable bone-coloured handle barely peeking out, but she’d recognize it anywhere and not only because it was mythical or one of a kind, almost a work of art. No, for her, it would always be Dumbledore’s wand before anything else.

She approached the bed slowly, wary of creaking floorboards and ready to stupefy Gregorovitch if need be, but he seemed to be sleeping like the dead. No pun intended. Seeing how hard and late he had been working, it wasn’t all that surprising. Hermione pulled experimentally on the handle and slid it easily forward before it suddenly snagged on something. Or so she thought before she saw the man’s dark eyes trying to burn a hole through her, knowing there was someone but unable to see who.

“Stupefy,” she cried out.

She’d had that spell on the ready ever since she intruded the bedroom and was glad for it when the man’s body went perfectly still, lying exactly as it had been moments ago. She stilled her heart, hand over her heart and pulled out the wand the rest of the way, out of his frozen grip.

“Finite Incantatem,” came a whisper at her back, seconds before she felt the tip of a wand dig into her back.

Her first layer of spells, the concealment charms, came down, but fortunately not her transfigured clothes or she'd look quite ridiculous.

“Turn around,” the voice ordered and she could hear it belonged to someone who was used to being obeyed and listened to.

She did, clutching one wand in each hand and bit back a gasp at the sight of Gellert Grindelwald. He was just as she had seen in that photograph at Bathilda Bagshot’s home and in Dumbledore’s biography: handsome, with a mischievous air about him, like he knew a great joke but would never share it with anyone. But his presence here, tonight, other than being terrifying, could only mean Death was playing games with her. This could not be a coincidence. It just couldn’t.

“What have we here?” he mused, not really speaking to her but more to himself and he reached a hand over to push back her hood.

He hid his surprise well but not well enough.

“Not… who I was expecting,” he said slowly, observing her as if he wanted to memorize every freckle on her face. Good luck with that.

Hermione kicked him right in the balls like the muggleborn that she was proud to be, thankful she had transfigured herself a pair of trousers instead of a witch's cumbersome robes. Grindelwald toppled over with a groan then curled into a fetal position as he held his privates. He had probably not expected a physical attack, certainly not from a witch and most assuredly not  _ there. _ But she didn't regret fighting dirty: this was  _ Grindelwald _ , a bloody dark wizard. Still, she couldn't stand the whimpering she was the cause of, nor did she want to give him a chance to retaliate because he'd deal back the pain a hundredfold, no doubt about it.  Twin stunners hit his chest from both wands at once. She looked at her wands in surprise. She had never done that before, using a wand in each hand simultaneously. Was it only possible because it was the Elder Wand? Had anyone else thought to try it before? She wanted to test this further but Death wouldn't be too happy about it. She  I had just used his wand without  a meaning to, when she didn't absolutely need it and she didn't want to make matters worse. However, watching the stunned Grindelwald sprawled on the floor, the wands still pointed at him… this man was a dark wizard. She could rid the world of him right here, right now. He hadn’t done his darkest deeds yet, it would be for the greater good. The tension growed, the wands trembled but with a huff, she lowered them again. She wasn’t a cold blooded killer, never had been, and she was only kidding herself if she thought she could take a life in such a way. She readjusted her hood, looked down at him with contempt and walked out of the window. She was better than him.

The town was a blur behind her as  she rushed to the limits of the wards where she had left her moldy log and pinecones. She made quick work of transfiguring them into her white sleigh and huskies, double checking that one of them wasn’t quacking this the around, and in no time, she was off again. She had a lot of distance to cover before she was a safe enough distance to Paris that she could apparate to the capital, having visited it once before with her parents, and from there to the cliffs of Dover and back to her homeland where the two next Hallows were. In fact, if she used the Elder Wand, she could probably cover more distance and be home even sooner. She was sure Death wouldn't mind.


	3. Potayto, Potahto

After her long-distance apparition, the longest she’d ever attempted, Hermione stumbled when her two feet touched ground. The Elder Wand was powerful, very much so. No wonder wizards couldn’t help boasting about possessing it: you could get drunk on the thrill having that much power at your fingertips caused. She’d caught herself using the Elder Wand more often than her own, without even meaning to and at this rate, she would break one of Death’s only commands on this mission not to use more than one Hallow at once. Maybe Death had been right to warn her off using them all at once: if one Hallow had so much influence on her, how bad would it be with all of them?

That was the reason why Hermione had decided to keep the Elder Wand on her but concealed against her hip instead of her wrist. It would be less accessible and thus less tempting. She did want to get her hands on a secondary wand when she was returned to her rightful timeline though, so she could experiment on using two wands at once and see if she could do it at all or only with the help of the mythical wand. She had been loath to do it now, to stop in one of Gregorovitch’s secondary shops on her way North. She’d just stolen his precious wand, literally from right under his nose, so waltzing into one of his shops to buy another seemed… petty. Like she was taunting him. But she wasn’t looking forward to buying one from Ollivander either. In the past  _ or  _ the future. That man didn’t age and seemed to know everyone and their grandparents. She didn’t doubt for a second he would see right through a glamour too, but maybe if she could get her hands on some polyjuice potion... She didn't have the time to brew it herself, but maybe she could find a potent batch on the black market down in Knockturn Alley… No, that was ridiculous. She barely had enough wizarding money from what had been lying around her pockets to buy a decent meal, she certainly couldn’t afford black market goodies on top of that. Not now. It would have to wait.

Death could at least have provided for her since she was working for him. Given the abysmal state of her finances, which amounted to two galleons, fourteen sickles and twenty knuts or so, she would have to find someplace to work at if she had to stay for any amount of time, preferably a job which offered a roof and at least one meal a day or she’d die of hunger, or possibly cold, before she’d even gotten her hands on the next Hallow.

She hurried down the main street and pushed open the door to the Leaky Cauldron. There were other places she could have gone for a meal, but right now, she craved something familiar and for once, she even looked forward to the rich, greasy food they always served there. The grubby pub hadn’t changed, in all these decades. It was like stepping into the present, her present, and she stood frozen in the doorway upon seeing it.

“Clear the door, will ya, missie?” a gruff voice called and the crowd that had gathered there seeking warmth like she had turned their heads to stare at her curiously.

Hermione cursed. She should have thought of changing her attire. The colour, at the very least. She had gathered from the strange looks she had received from everyone across Europe, either muggles or wizards, young or old, allies or enemies, that her outfit was too… alien. Too modern probably, too revealing for a female of this era although it did not show an inch of skin, and it was far, far too white. Great for blending in the snowy countryside but nobody in this era seemed to understand the simple concept of camouflage. Of course, she had to concede that in the dark pub, so it wasn't so much camouflage right now as it was a bright neon sign. Neon signs that had yet to be invented. With an inward groan, she pushed her way through the crowd to the bar which had the only seats available. She kept her hood up because it wasn’t that rare to do amongst the mixed bunch that came into the Leaky Cauldron and she’d be damned before she let anyone know more about her than they needed to.

“What’ll it be, then?” asked the barman.

Hermione didn’t recognize him. Not Tom, then, which was rather a good thing since she intended on going back home someday and would rather avoid uncomfortable questions.

“A bowl of stew and a warm butterbeer,” she ordered, salivating at the mere mention of both.

She was grateful for the European farmers that had agreed to part with some of their food, she really was. But she’d been dreaming of a hot meal for days now, and all but snatched the bowl out of the barkeep’s hands when he returned from the kitchen. She tried to force herself to eat slowly so she wouldn't make herself sick, but before she knew it, half the bowl was empty and she heard someone chuckle in the seat next to her.

“It’s good to see a woman with an appetite,” the man said.

Hermione raised her head to glare the interloper into silence, something that had worked splendidly with Ron over the years, but she spluttered instead when she recognized the man: Linus Wakefield in the flesh! She only recognized him because she’d read his book so many times from cover to cover and had delved into the work he had accomplished to integrate the Time Department with the Unspeakables. She could recite his  _ Numerology and Grammatica  _ textbook by heart. He was practically her mentor, albeit only through his work as she'd never met the man. Before now. Oh, Merlin! She’d been staring far too long at the man. He was going to get the wrong idea.

“I’ve been travelling,” she said to cover her embarrassment. “Haven’t had a hot meal in days.”

“I’ll say! Travelling in this weather! You’re either very brave or very stupid,” the man quipped and she laughed, because that had been so blunt, yet true. It was in fact, the very definition of most Gryffindors: stupidly brave.

The man smiled and ordered a refill of butterbeer for the both of them while Hermione observed him covertly from under her hood. It was strange seeing someone who was almost a historical figure as far as she was concerned and he was nothing like she would have imagined: intimidating because he was quite tall and all angles, but with a face framed by jet black hair that obviously smiled and laughed more often that not.

“So where have you been?” he asked, not caring at all that he was being so nosy with someone he didn’t know at all.

But he had bought her a butterbeer, and it’s not like she was going to tell him the truth anyway. 

“France, visiting friends,” she said and shovelled more of the deliciously hot stew down her gob. She’d eat like a lady another day. “They needed some help with their wards,” she added because it was a good excuse, something she was actually good at and because he seemed to be waiting for some details.

“Wards, hu? You must be doing some good business during these harsh times. Bloody bombs falling everywhere,” he commented but she didn’t take it personally since the man seemed to lack a particular filter of courtesy when he talked to people.

Hermione shrugged. The best lies had the least details.

“What about you?” she asked, fighting hard to keep a straight face because she knew more about his life than he did himself.

“Boring job at the Ministry, I fall asleep at my desk most of the time, to be honest,” he replied flatly. “But don’t tell my superior, or he might find something more mind numbing than number crunching.”

“Accounting?” That she didn't know about him. Maybe he hadn't written his most famous book yet. “You know, I always thought numbers weren’t given as much important as they should. That there is no advanced mathematical education at Hogwarts is one thing but that it is not even properly applied to magic is quite another. My wards, for example, would never hold up if the arithmancy was off even one degree off. Not to mention all the other applications,” she said with her most innocent face. 

She certainly wouldn’t talk about how he had discovered a whole new way to apply basic algebra to everything! If that was still a new concept in her time, imagine now. Wakefield gave her a strange look then seemed to ponder her words.

“Actually, I always found it strange that mathematics were always considered too “muggle”, that the Ministry counsels no formal education in numbers before or during Hogwarts. That's why there are so few candidate who graduate with an Arithmancy NEWT, and that's why most of them are muggle-born!” his enthusiasm wanted suddenly. “But if it's to end up with a boring dead-end accountant job at the Ministry, I sort of understand the lack of interest.”

Their common love of numbers was a spark that got them talking animatedly for the next hour. Hermione had rarely found someone willing to discuss this topic without snoring or going glassy-eyed within minutes, and although they did not always agree, they certainly had a wonderful time debating about it. 

“Can I get you another?” the barkeep asked, cleaning the bar and obviously wanting them out to make room for other clients.

“Hold your long johns, Tim, we’re going. No need to kick us out,” Wakefield said and they both settled their tabs.

Hermione was surprised at how little it had cost and berated herself for not thinking of inflation. She’d be able to afford another meal, maybe even a room somewhere until she got enough information to find the next Hallow. Personally, she wanted to get the cloak next. She had wanted to get it first, but Death had had other ideas. It was within her grasp now though. All she needed was to find where Harry’s grandfather lived, sneak in, and steal it… but Merlin, did she feel terrible about it.

A nudge at her elbow startled her and she finally took notice of Wakefield offering her his arm to lead her out onto Diagon Alley.

“I’ve never enjoyed my lunch break quite so much,” her companion told her. “And I don’t even know your name.”

Hermione pondered this. She could just lie outright and never see him again, but the man must have connections as he worked at the Ministry, which could be useful.

“Hermione...White,” she said, the hesitation unnoticed. She’d have to find a way to get owls to home in on her with a false name.

“White?” Wakefield asked, bemused as he looked her up and down. “Should’ve guessed.”

He then bowed slightly over her hand and gave his own name. One thing to be said for old times was that men were quite a bit more gallant.

“I hope I’ll have the pleasure of meeting you again.”

“I should be here for at least a week,” she said and ignored the slight droop of the man’s shoulders as she did so, but it was better to cut off any hope for a relationship of a romantic nature since she knew he was due to meet his wife anytime soon. However, she did need him to consider her as a friend. “Don’t fall asleep at your desk,” she said with a wink and disappeared down the shopping district with a last wave of her hand in his direction.

She walked without hesitation towards Ollivander’s shop, now that she had enough money, thanks to inflation. She decided that if Ollivander suspected he recognized her in the future, he’d probably surmise she was an ancestor or distant relative of herself. 

Ollivanders was the same as always. Wizards truly did not like change. She tugged her hood down, almost blocking her view entirely, made sure both her wands were well hidden on her person and pushed the door open, her heart beating a hundred miles an hour.

“Good afternoon,” came the wandmaker’s eery voice. “How may I help you?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, because why would anyone walk into a wand shop if not to purchase a wand.

“I’m looking for a new wand,” she answered and bit her lips not to add a sarcastic “Obviously.” at the end.

“Very well,” he said after a beat too long. “Your hand if you please,” he demanded, his tape measurer already hovering around her. “No, your wand hand,” he added.

Too bloody smart. She should have gone to one of Gregorovitch’s shops after all, but it was no use crying over spilled milk.

“I wish to train my off-hand. Is that a problem?” she asked, trying to sound as haughty as the Malfoys.

“Problematic...no. But it is an unusual request. Very unusual indeed. You will need to try your secondary wand with your primary wand in hand however, so as to make sure the two do not interact badly with each other.”

Hermione scowled. She had no idea if that was true or if he was just tricking her into showing her wand. If he did see her wand, he’d recognize it when the time came. Maybe he already knew… and this man reported to Dumbledore. She certainly did not want Dumbledore on her case when she already suspected Grindelwald was looking for her.

“In that case, I shall return another day.” 

Or decade. She turned on her heels and left the main street for a small alley. She should have thought about changing her outfit before. If Grindelwald tracked her all the way up to London, she would be way too easy to find based on her description. Damn her hunger and Wakefield for making her forget about such an important detail, but at least she had kept her hood up.

No one was around but she cast a Notice-Me-Not charm on the alleyway entrance just in case and pictured what she wanted: a long victorian styled velvet dress that would be more in style and less flashy. Grey this time. Everything was so grey around here that it would blend right in. She kept the cut of her coat though, she enjoyed too much how it kept her warm and hidden, but she turned the colour to a darker shade of grey than her dress. She replaced her wand to its rightful place and left the smaller alley for the busier street.

Hermione had hoped to see a ‘Help needed’ sign placated in one of the windows as she knew that’s how Diagon Alley had always recruited their hired help, so, despite her misgivings, she branched off into Knockturn Alley and it’s less reputable establishments. It’s not like she had any references to give after all, so the main street was a no-go. 

“Noooo!” a crowd of wizards shouted from a pub as she walked past. 

Curious she walked in to see a dozen or so wizards crowded around a dingy wireless radio with another waving papers and jingling a bag of galleons. Gambling on Quidditch… she supposed some things never changed, boys will be boys and all that.

“Are ye bettin’ or lookin’ for someone to warm ye up, hun’? I can offer both!” the bookmaker called over and snickered.

Hermione was about to tell him off when the information of who was playing, on which brooms and who won by how much popped into her mind. That’s what hanging out with a Quidditch fan such as Ron got her, and here she’d thought it would never be of any use. How wrong she'd been.

“Two galleons and...twenty sickles on the Montrose Magpies. Double that their new seeker will get the snitch,” she said.

The bookmaker snorted.

“It’s yer money, luv’,” he replied taking her money and handing her a scrap of parchment he had scribbled her bet on. “Ye do know those ruddy Magpies are losing their feathers out there, righ’ ?”

Hermione nodded and took a seat in a small booth nearby, ordering a firewhiskey in the hopes that it would disinfect the glass it came in. She listened to the wireless and watched the various people and creatures who came in and out of the pub, belatedly realizing she didn’t even know what the establishment was called. After what felt like an eternity, the match came to an end. She supposed she should be grateful that it hadn’t lasted for days as it so often did with Quidditch, and she heard the announcement that the Montrose Magpies had won the game in the nick of time thanks to a spectacular catch by their newly minted seeker.

She approached the bookie once the rest of the shady wizards had collected their gains or angrily stomped off because of their losses. No need to say, he was not happy to see her. She could feel he was going to pull a Ludo Bagman on her and wasn’t deceived when he took out his wand and limply held it under her nose. Quite frankly, she felt insulted by his poor dueling stance and hit the underside of his hand, forcing his wand to jump out of his grasp and into the air where she caught it and pointed it right back at him.

His eyes were wide and his mouth slack.

“Ye can’t do that, ye bint.”

“I believe I just did. Now, my money?” she prompted, digging the tip of his wand in his soft belly..

The bookmaker’s hands fumbled for his pouch, but he did take the time to count the exact amount of her winnings and not a knut more, or less. She tucked her twelve galleons and eight sickles in a pocket she charmed shut and twirled the man’s wand in her hand before pocketing it. It was a surprisingly nice wand, chestnut in colour and the handle carved in the likeness of a doe. Much too nice for someone who used it to cheat people out of their money.

“Hey, you can’t do that!” the man protested.

“Watch me,” she shot back and walked away.

The following attack not twenty minutes later had not been a surprise, if you could even call it that. It was usual business for Knockturn alley. She even felt a touch of disappointment that the quality of criminals was not up to par to her own time, or maybe she’d just gotten lucky. Anyway, she had no intentions on hanging around for him to get any more backup, returning instead to the more reputable part of Diagon Alley where people would actually call the Aurors if there was an attempted mugging in the middle of the street in broad daylight. A cosy hotel held by an elderly witch who didn’t ask too many questions was just what she had been looking for. That and a nice bubble-bath.

By the next day, she had not managed to gather any information on the Potter family and she was growing frustrated. She couldn’t just ask outright because that would be so suspicious she would no doubt be pointed out to the authorities as someone up to no good. The Potters were well liked and influential, she knew that much at least. So she resolved to go for the Stone of Resurrection instead, which shouldn’t be too much of a hardship given that its current owner was not much more than a squib.

 

ooo

 

The Gaunt Shack was a sad place and its sole inhabitant was just as pathetic. Morfin Gaunt was sprawled on the floor, passed out drunk by the smell of him. His clothes were in a sorry state, old, ripped, and dirty, but the rest of him was not that much better: his hair hanging in limp greasy strands to his shoulders, his face so asymmetrical that it looked like it had been made out of puzzle pieces forced together and his skin a sickly grey. She’d even thought he might be dead at first, especially because of the smell he gave off, but then he’d made a loud sort of hiccup and started snoring so loudly that Fang would have been proud. If that was the result of inbreeding, she was only too glad to be muggle-born.

As expected, on his right index finger sat the ring that had been passed down for generations and generations: another of Death’s Hallows, the resurrection stone. It had been set onto a clumsily made gold ring and she could make out the Deathly Hallow symbol engraved in the middle. The stone itself was actually quite beautiful, it seemed to shimmer and have more depth than it should be possible for a small black pebble. It reminded her of something… something that gave her shivers, something unnatural... the Veil! She had no intention of using that particular Hallow before, and even less so now that she could see the similarities between the two artefacts. Not to mention calling on the dead was just too disturbing.

“Shall I take that personally?” Death whispered behind her, making her jump in surprise.

“Could you stop doing that?” she hissed. “I swear, every time. Besides, you’re Death, not dead.”

“Potayto, potahto,” Death said with a shrug and a rattle. “I feel this mission is too easy after all. If I had known, I would have sent a Champion sooner.”

“Is that what I am, then? Your champion?” Hermione asked, amused for the first time by Death’s words.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Death said, his face hovering over the ring to look at the stone more closely.

“Well… No.” Hermione said wryly. “You sort of blackmailed me into it, and I was your only candidate. This is only easy because I have all the information to locate these two Hallows. But I fear it won’t be so easy with the cloak.”

“We have time,” Death told her simply and vanished in the shadows as usual. He was such a drama queen, but had he been trying to comfort her? Not that she wanted to take her time, she wanted out of here and back to her life as soon as possible

With care not to wake the slumbering man, a task she should be getting quite proficient at by now, she detached the stone from the gold ring and after much consideration decided to transfigure a pebble into an almost perfect copy. She couldn’t quite get the stone’s unique texture but this oaf of a man would probably not notice anyway. The last thing she wanted, however was to lose the stone, so she took out the gold chain Harry had offered her. She had given up the timepiece attached to it on her last visit to a farm on her way up here unfortunately, but she was glad to have kept the chain on which she now secured the stone.

Two down, one to go.

 


	4. Been There, Done That

“Hermione!” someone called when she walked in the Leaky Cauldron for lunch the next day.

She’d taken the rest of the day off after finding the Resurrection Stone yesterday. One Hallow a day was more than enough to deal with, not that she had any hope of getting closer to the cloak anytime soon.

“Linus,” she greeted back because he'd apparently decided they were on a first name basis now. “And how are your ledgers faring today?”

“Just as boring as they need to be,” he chuckled and waved at her new outfit. “So, are you Miss Grey, today?”

“Just trying to blend in,” she replied laughing it off. “Mind if I join you?”

Their shared meal was just as agreeable as the last. So far, this man was the only person she would regret not meeting again in the future since she knew he was already dead by the time she started at Hogwarts, before she even knew there was a wizarding world out there. It made their conversations sad as well as surreal.

“So, I know this may sound a little forward,”Linus said at the end of their meal. “But I have a proposition and I want you to hear me out.”

Hermione nodded warily, pushing her empty plate away.

“A friend of mine throws this Ball every year for All Hallows Eves, and every year, I have to attend the dreaded thing with an old spinster cousin of mine,” he explained, gauging her reaction.

“Why?” she asked puzzled. “Can’t you just invite any witch to go with you?”

“Ha! You see?” he exclaimed happily, a few heads turning their way curiously at the outburst.  Hermione motioned for him to keep it down. “Sorry. But you see, that’s my problem! No witch in their right mind agrees to go out with me because apparently I’m too…too...” he trailed off searching for a word and snapping his fingers as if it would magically make it appear.

“Blunt? Outspoken? Frank?” she offered with a teasing smile.

“Putting it nicely, yes,” he agreed. “Talking round in circles and in riddles is just not my thing. I like facts, I don’t see why I should wrap them up in a bundle of nonsense. But you don’t mind.”

“I had this friend who always put his foot in his mouth, so I guess I kind of got used to it over the years,” she replied, thinking of all the tactless things Ron had said from the very first day they'd met, which was rather a lot. She patted the wizard’s hand. “But I’m sure the right witch will come along soon, you’ll see.”

“Not in the next two days, she won’t,” he sighed and looked back up at her with puppy-dog eyes, clutching both her hands dramatically. “Could you come with me, Hermione? Please? I don’t think I can take cousin Martha’s mothball scent another year. It’s just too depressing, and she’s really not that fun to begin with. Be my date? Just as friends? Please?”

“Just as friends?” she warned and he nodded his head emphatically. “Oh, all right. But you’ll owe me, Linus, I hate combing my hair. So where is this Ball thing taking place?”

“At the Potter’s estate, but don’t worry, I’ll pick you up and take you there myself since you’re not from around here.”

Hermione momentarily froze at the name. Her smile after that must have looked positively manic.

“Hermione? You still with me?” Linus asked, snapping his fingers in front of her face.

“Yes, sorry. What were you saying?”

“I was actually asking where I should pick you up. You said you were staying in Diagon Alley?

“Yes. At the Black Cat Hotel with old Mrs Dillingham. Do you know the place?”

“Sure, but I thought you’d be staying with some friends or family?”

“I...uh...don’t actually know anyone here.”

Linus' eyebrows rose in surprise and she fumbled for an explanation.

“I’ve been helping a friend track down some family heirlooms, which is why I travel a lot,” she said. If you can’t keep your lies short, keep them as close to the truth as possible.

“That sounds interesting. I wish I could travel as much as you.”

“It's never too late. Of course, you'd have to give up snoring at your desk and I'm not sure you're quite ready for that yet.”

Linus grinned.

“One day, you’ll see. So, pick you up on Sunday at eight?” he asked, still looking too hopeful for her taste, but she confirmed.

Good news was she had all day tomorrow to find a suitable gown to attend the Ball. Bad news was she had to go shopping. But she was not risking a transfigured outfit where anyone might cast a Finite Incantatem on her. She might not care for her appearance but she was not inviting ridicule on herself or embarrassing her friend. It had happened to one of the students at the Yule Ball during the Triwizard Tournament and she didn’t wish it on anyone. The poor girl had spent the rest of the night crying her eyes out and she could just about imagine Linus doing that on her behalf.

 

ooo

 

“I don’t think red is your colour,” Death said out of nowhere, making her shriek.

“Are you alright in there ma’am?” the store clerk asked from the other side of the curtain to her changing booth.

“Fine, yes...a... spider. Just a nasty little spider. Got it,” she said, glaring at the grim reaper. “What the hell are you doing here?” she hissed, stepping out of the shimmering red gown now that it had been shot down by the highest authority. She tried the frosty-blue dress instead. “The only other times you’ve bothered appearing was because I was about to retrieve one of your Hallows and I’m pretty sure this store doesn’t have your invisibility cloak on sale.”

Death’s mouth stretch into what might be a smile.

“I’m only trying to help, since this will assist in securing access to my Hallow.”

“So you’re spying on me?”

“I did say I would be keeping an eye on you.”

Hermione stared pointedly at his empty eye sockets until Death huffed and looked her over. And just how did he do that without any eyes?

“Passable, for a mortal,” he commented and vanished again.

“What? You buggering old bag of bones, come back here,” she muttered under her breath.

But Death did not return and that had been the end to his pointless appearance. Truth be told, the blue gown did look better than any of the others she had tried. She wondered if Death got bored sometimes and had just wanted to chat for a bit. Maybe she shouldn’t have been so harsh, but honestly, he could have timed his visit better. Any time was better than dress shopping in a changing-room.

She asked the store clerk to wrap the blue dress up and to pick out shoes and accessories to go with it because she was even more clueless on that front. It had taken much longer than she had thought it would and she hurried back towards the hotel, cursing when she slipped on the frozen cobbles. A spell flashed right by her head, missing her skull by a fraction. A sickly green spell she knew only too well. Somebody meant business. She whirled around, dropping her shopping bags and searched for her would-be murderer while getting a good grip on both wands. She was not taking any chances against someone who had fired a killing curse in the middle of Diagon Alley without second thoughts. She ignored the people screaming and running in all directions, her attention focused on the figure facing her: Grindelwald. Still as handsome and arrogant as the last time they met.

“So you came all the way here for me to kick your arse again? I'm flattered,” she said, trying to get a rise out of him so he would do something stupid, but he only scowled. “Took you long enough to find me.”

"Hand over the wand," Grindelwald snapped.

"Or what?" she mocked. "If you have any idea of what it is, you know you won't take it from me so easily."

"Don't you know who I am?"

"I know exactly who you are. But seeing as that's twice you've mucked up your attempts to steal the wand, you'll forgive me for not shaking in my boots,"

Grindelwald's face hardened and he snapped his fingers, several figures stepped out of the shadows and took positions around her.

"First you shoot me in the back and now you send your goons to fight a lone witch? Have you no honour at all?"

"You're a fine one to speak of honour, witch,” he growled, his off hand unconsciously shielding his crotch. “ But I find the end justifies the means. Now, give me the wand or be prepared to meet Death.”

Been there, done that. Hermione couldn't help it, she laughed heartily. The irony... it was just so bloody funny. However that came to an abrupt end when one man lunged at her and another shot a spell she couldn't identify. She ducked, letting the two men crash into in each other while the spell shattered a lamppost which in turn fell in the street like a tree under the axe.The ring of wizards around her tightened. There were six more of them, plus Grindelwald who apparently didn’t mind getting his hands dirty, but the two she’d just evaded would be back on their feet pretty soon. Time to see what the famed wand of power could do when pushed to its limits.

“Stupefy!” she cried out, twins flashes of red light shooting out of both her wands, knocking two of the goons over… only to be immediately revived by their comrades.

Right, not total idiots, then. She’d have to deal more permanent damage and she hated that, even if they were not admittedly nice people. She whirled on herself while casting a “Relashio Maxima “ that sent all the wizards around her flying against the walls and the window shops with satisfying thumping sounds. Those hit with the elder wand having it just that much harder. She followed it immediately with an “Accio wands” for those who were too stunned to hold their grip on them and caught the four that came flying towards her. Without a second thought, she banished them to her bedroom at the Black Cat Hotel because you could never have too many wands and the last one she’d confiscated didn’t work well for her at all. But maybe one of these would.

Not seeing the next hit coming, Hermione was grazed by some kind of blasting curse, and she thanked Merlin for the wizard’s poor aim, but then barely had time to cast a shield before she was thrown further down the street by a couple other spells, landing hard on the cold cobbles and rolling like a tumbleweed. Grindelwald loomed over her before she had time to pick herself up, his wand leveled at her chest, about to curse her… But he froze. Hermione looked down to see the necklace had escaped its resting place under her clothing, and used the reprieve to scramble away from him and back on her feet, wands leveled back at him again.

“Who are you?” he asked, his voice more level than before.

“You don’t know? How did you find me then?” she sneered, trying to get him talking because the aurors should be arriving anytime soon now… she hoped. Besides, she needed to catch her breath too.

Grindelwald waved a hand impatiently as if the subject thoroughly annoyed him.

“You could join me,” he offered. “We could change the world. Make it a better place.”

“I hardly think you mean to treat me as an equal and I already have a Master,” she snapped with a flick of the wands to set conjured firebirds on him, an improved version of her old canaries attack she had first used against Ron. These, however, weren’t so harmless, resembling miniature phoenixes. By the time they were extinguished, Grindelwald was badly scorched and scratched, and Hermione got rid of two of the wizards left, knocking them out so hard, no number or Renervate would rouse them anytime soon. However, she’d had to make liberal use of the shield spell, and her energy was quickly draining at such an expenditure.

“And who is this master you speak of?” Grindelwald demanded rounding on her again, sending spell after spell which she mostly tried to deflect or dodge while sending her own spells, but he was strong and his spells were dark and destructive. She knew she was only holding up against him because of the elder wand.

“Take an educated guess,” she replied before several pops announced the arrival of reinforcements.

Grindelwald’s wandless goons turned on them and she heard shouted spells and orders to stand down while she continued fighting off the dark wizard. He was trying to back her up into a corner, she realized, so she used a spell Harry and Ron had invented together but which she hated using because it sent the caster flying at an angle like a bloody rocket. At which point, it was up to you to find a way to land with as much as dignity as possible. Hermione usually used a featherweight charm so she could just fall slowly back to the ground without hurting herself but she would be an easy target for several minutes. She looked at Grindelwald’s rabbid expression… whatever his plan was, she wouldn’t like it so, screwing her eyes shut, she shot up into the sky, startling her opponent and most anyone who was on the street fighting. She quickly cast the featherweight, and hung there, descending very slowly back to earth. She breathed a sigh of relief when she noted the aurors had captured the henchmen and were now turning their attention on their leader.

Grindelwald looked up at her, too far away in this darkness to make out his expression and then he disapparated with a loud crack.

“Erm… Miss? You up there?” one of the aurors called several feet down. He wasn’t shouting exactly so he must have cast a sonorus. “Have you been injured? Can we help get you down?”

Hermione pulled her hood back over her face, annoyed that it had slipped during the battle. She didn’t fancy having to deal with the aurors and all the questions she wouldn’t be able to answer. They may even arrest her for something. For one, she didn’t exist, and two, she had caused quite a bit of damage, even if it was in self-defense. Time to flee the scene of the crime: she accioed her shopping bags, making a couple of aurors shriek in surprise and cast a disillusionment charm on herself. The aurors had their wands trained on her now but they were hesitating, not understanding why she’d done that and she canceled the featherweight charm once she was close enough to a rooftop, landing on it with muffled cry as she realized her leg had been hit at some point. She turned on the spot and apparated away. She had no clear destination in mind, which was a very stupid thing to do, but wasn’t surprised to find herself in Hogsmeade either, looking up the path at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She winced when she started down the path to the village. She needed to heal her wounds and fast. That last blasting curse had done a number on her and the stickiness she felt running down her leg was probably blood, not that she wanted to look because she might just faint. Blasting curses were not pretty. However, she couldn’t very well heal herself, not in her state, nor could she go to St Mungo’s as she had no doubt aurors would be looking for her there, and, she hated to say this, but she hadn’t been smart enough to stock up on potions. Going for help at Hogwarts was equally out of the question, they would just turn her in to the authorities. Sighing, she sank against a tree near the path. She was just so… exhausted. She doubted she could take another step forward now that her adrenalin was running out, and where would she go anyway? She had nowhere to go, no friend to turn to- Oh, but she did! She did have a friend here! Linus Wakefield! Could she… Should she ask for his help? She trusted him enough that he would help her first and at the very least hesitate before turning her in, if she asked nicely, during which time she might convince him otherwise. The problem being that she didn’t know where he lived and could neither owl nor floo him… not here, not in her state. She closed her eyes for a second, maybe more, but jerked awake. Blood loss… she had to stay awake. Focus. Message. Urgent. Patronus.

She gripped her wand and with a last ditch effort conjured her patronus, her spirits rising when she looked at her glowing otter gallivanting around her. Calling it forward, she entrusted it with her message to Linus.

“Linus, I need help. I’m just off the path near Hogsmeade that leads to Hogwarts. Hurry, please.”

She did her best to stay awake, singing to herself so she wouldn’t slip under again.

“Hermione?” came Linus’ voice from the path.

He sounded uncertain, but he’d come, and quickly.

“Here, Linus,” she called out but her voice was feeble even to her own ears.

“Merlin!” he exclaimed, coming into view, his face pale in the Lumos of his wand. “Hermione! What happened to you?”

“Long story,” she mumbled, raising her hand towards his so he could help her up. “How are you at healing?”

“Okay, I guess. I don't usually need it. But why-”

“No hospital. Please, Linus,” she begged but her friend still looked mulish. “You owe me, remember.”

Linus scowled but nodded and put his arm around her to help her stand.

“Hold on tight,” he warned and side-along apparated her… to a quaint little cottage.

She didn’t have much time to take in the surroundings because he ushered her in and dropped her on the couch of his living room before he called on a house-elf to fetch his potions kit. His brows furrowed as he looked down at her. He opened his mouth, then thought better of it and closed it again, looking grim which was really unlike him. Then, without a word, he helped her out of her coat but the pain as she twisted her shoulder was so intense that she cried out and-

 

She woke up much later judging by the light coming in through the windows, feeling… patched up, more so because of the bandages on her right shoulder, left wrist and shin, but she supposed it wasn’t such a heavy price to pay after having duelled Grindelwald and his lot. She was a good duellist in her own right, but it was Death’s wand which had kept alive in the end.

“You’re awake,” Linus said, relief evident in his voice as he walked in her line of sight. “I don’t know whether to hug you or hex you after that stunt you pulled last night.”

Hermione sat up, feeling a bit light-headed and pulled her dress back over her shoulder, wincing at the movement.

“I’m sorry, Linus. I wouldn’t have asked… but I don’t know anyone else here. Thank you.”

“Yes, well, I’m no healer. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. So are you going to tell me what happened now?”

“I don’t suppose you’ll believe that I was mugged?”

Linus snorted and threw the Daily Prophet in her lap.

“Seeing as I already read the newspaper, no. I don’t think Grindelwald has turned from his so-called revolution to become the local cutthroat somehow.”

Hermione winced and looked over the article. Someone had managed to snap a picture of the battle in the main street of Diagon Alley. It was a large shot with the aurors battling the goons and in one corner she could see herself fighting off Grindelwald with her two wands. Luckily it had been taken far enough away that you couldn’t distinguish any of her features, her bushy hair hiding much of her face as she moved about in a short time loop.

 

**GRINDELWALD ATTACKS DIAGON ALLEY**

 

The story was a bit vague because they didn’t know who he had attacked or why, but they got most of the details right for once. No wonder, since the killing curse had been shot in a street full of witnesses and Diagon Alley wasn’t exactly a discreet place for a duel take place. There might have been any number of people looking at them through the windows. Hermione put down the paper with a grimace, because apparently, she was wanted for questioning by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Fortunately all they had to go on was that they were looking for a young woman with curly dark hair, a grey coat and two wands. Not much in sum. The newspaper had given her a nickname, unsurprisingly, some things never changed and she was thus referred to as The Grey Lady. Very subtle and not at all confusing since someone else already owned that nickname. Somehow, she doubted the ghost of Ravenclaw appreciated it. Annoyingly,  she had checked into the Black Cat Hotel under the name of Miss Grey, so old Mrs Dillingham might contact them and she couldn’t risk going back there. Good thing she travelled light. All they would find left in that room were a few toiletries and the four wands she had banished there. Not much they could deduce from, in sum, but she would be glad when she finished this mission for Death because she still had the feeling that the net was closing in around her.

Linus was looking intently at her.

“Why is Grindelwald after you?” he asked.

Hermione patted the seat next to her and he reluctantly sat down.

“Remember I said I was tracking down family heirlooms?”

Linus nodded.

“Well, I have something he wants... it’s the second time he’s attacked me to get it, although last time he was alone, so the damage wasn’t as bad,” she said, waving at the newspaper’s photo where spells were shooting out in all directions and breaking window shops, lamps, signs… “And before you ask: no, I'm not giving it to him.”

“But he tried to kill you,” he muttered. “A killing curse in the back! What a coward… is it worth it? Are you sure you can't let it go?”

Hermione shook her head with a sad smile. She couldn’t give up, even if she wanted to. Linus sighed.

“I have to protect what he’s seeking, it’s my job,” she explained. “If he gets it, things will get worse for everyone.”

“You’re really something else, you know... I’ve never even met someone who could duel with two wands at once, not even Albus can do that and he’s quite powerful. I’d advise you to seek his protection if you don’t want to go to the authorities…” Hermione shuddered. “But I see you can hold your own.”

She grinned at him, holding back her urge to hug him like she would Harry or Ron whenever they stood up for her.

“So you’re not calling the aurors on me?” she asked and pointed at the number in bald letter standing out in The Prophet. “There’s even a reward.”

“Of course not! Who would I bring to Potter’s Ball with me if I did that?” he asked with mock outrage that made her laugh. “If you’re still feeling up to it, I mean. I don’t want to push you if you’re not-”

“No, I’m fine. You did a good job.”

“You’ll have scars,” he said with a grimace. “I can patch people up for an emergency but I’ve never been good at the esthetic part.”

Hermione shrugged.

“Won’t be my first. Probably won't be my last. Wish I'd left him one in return though. But you did well, better than I could have hoped for, and I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”

“I can think of a few ways,” he said, waggling his eyebrows.

Hermione punched him in the arm for his cheek.

“Well, that’s the image of you being a gentleman shot down the drain,” she joked.

“Perish the thought,” he agreed.

But the rest of the day, Linus was as attentive and caring as she could possibly wish and she hoped he met his future wife soon because she would be one lucky witch. They talked for hours on end and were surprised when they realized it was time for them to get prepared.

She had to adjust her dress so her shoulder injury wouldn’t show but apart from that it was perfect. What took most of her time was getting her hair straight and a tone lighter so no one would even think that she could have any link to the Grey Lady. For the same reason, she charmed her coat into a light blue colour that complimented her dress. Even if it was hit with a Finite, it would only turn back into the soldier’s muggle coat instead of the grey coat that had been pictured in the Daily Prophet. She tucked the Resurrection Stone under her dress, it’s cool surface resting against her breast, and the Elder wand was neatly tied to her uninjured shin. She couldn’t be more grateful for wizarding fashion for once, as it favoured floor length dresses and long sleeves which neatly covered all her bandages. She could easily pass off for a mild-mannered well-bred young lady this way. She smirked into the mirror, appearances could be so deceitful.

 


	5. Mothballs

 

Hermione discovered how strong the Potter genes were when she met Charlus Potter that night. He was greeting each guest as they arrived and she had to school her expression into polite interest when she saw a Harry Potter look alike, albeit older, taller and with hazel eyes, but the resemblance was quite startling. If Harry was a clone of his father, he in turn was a carbon copy of his own. She wondered how the little Potters of the future would turn out.

“Linus, old friend!” their host boomed. “And where is cousin mothball?”

His wife, or so she assumed since she was standing so close to him, elbowed him in the ribs while her face gave nothing away.

“Cousin Martha couldn’t make it, unfortunately,” Hermione provided, amused by the couple’s antics. “So I’m standing in for her. A bit of a let down, I'm sure, but I'll do my best to be as charming as she usually is.”

“Won't be much of a challenge, I'm afraid- Oi! Dora, you do know you have very pointy elbows, don't you? I'm sure I've mentioned it before.”

“Indeed, dear. It does ring a bell. Be good now.”

Linus had a hard time keeping a straight face until he found an opportune pause between the bickering hosts to introduce her as Miss Hermione White, a friend visiting from abroad, giving her a perfect cover which shouldn’t arouse too many questions. She felt bad about implicating Linus this much, but she had no choice, and she had to keep telling herself that so she wouldn’t lose track of why she was there.

Grindelwald's incursion into the heart of Diagon Alley and the identity of the mysterious Grey Lady was the talk of the night. Only to be expected, she supposed, but Hermione was relieved when Linus invited her for a dance, giving her time to get away from the silliest pieces  of gossip and strategize. She had not had the opportunity to form a plan to snoop around yet and she realized just how easy it had been to procure the two other Hallows compared to this one. She wished Death could be a bit more helpful but she also knew this was the Hallow he had the least power over since the cloak’s very purpose was to hide from him.

"May I?" someone asked, forcing them to a stop.

"Stealing my date already, Charlus?" Linus chuckled. "You're never this eager when I dance with Martha."

"That's because Martha is a bit too eager to dance with me." Charlus replied smartly and stepped in as Hermione's partner, twirling and spinning her around expertly. 

"So how did you two meet? I must say I've never seen Linus have quite so much fun at my Ball before. Of course, he's never mentioned you before either."

"We met at a pub. Linus was fascinated with the way I was devouring my bowl of stew," she replied with ease, the smile as she thought back to their meeting at the Leaky Cauldron both fond and geniune. "But we're just good friends, not... Whatever it is you’re thinking."

"Shame. Maybe Linus will convince you otherwise. He can be very persuasive when he puts his mind to it.”

“I can imagine,” she chuckled. “Unfortunately, I’m not here for long, but I’m so glad I was able to attend your All Hallows Eve, Mr Potter. I’ve heard it’s  _ the _ social event to attend this time of year.”

Her diversion was clumsy, but her host gracious enough to take the bait, telling her about past incidents that happened during these Balls and that had her laughing merrily while they glided around through the other couples. The song came to an end and he gallantly walked her back to her ‘date’ before inviting another of his guest. An obligation, from what she’d understood and given the sheer number of people in attendance, the poor man would be dancing the soles of his shoes away… He, at least, would be busy all night, and Mrs Potter was most likely attending similar duties, which was perfect. Neither will be sneaking up on her the parts of the house which were off limits to visitors.

“I’ll just go refresh myself,” she told Linus and kissed his cheek. If she did find the last Hallow tonight, depending on how it went, she might not be seeing him again, and this was all the goodbye they would have.

The manor was so vast, Hermione lost herself in her search for the bathroom... or that’s what she would tell anyone who asked her. In truth, she had a good sense of direction and was inspecting one room after another with a clear goal in mind: locating and retrieving the Hallow. If  _ she  _ was the head of a family who was entrusted with a mythical artefact passed down from one generation to the next for as long as they could remember, she’d make damn sure she kept it nearby, in a place where she would spend most of her time taking care of the family business. So, all she needed to do was find Mr Potter’s private study and from there, find where he hid the cloak because she doubted he was quite as careless with it as Harry had always been. In fact, Harry had no doubt been the sloppiest possessor of Death’s Cloak. He’d spilled treacle tart down the length of it once. She wondered if Death knew...

“I don’t imagine you’d care to help?” she muttered through clenched teeth, knowing that Death was watching her closely now that the Hallow was almost at hand.

“It is the cloak, idiot child,” Death rasped in the hollow of her ear. “Of course I cannot. It is close however. So close. I can feel it... but I rather doubt that helps you much.”

“You’re right, it doesn’t,” she said and ignored him as she moved to the next door.

Contrary to the others, it was locked, which was promising. She poked at the door with her wand to test the protective spells barring her entrance until she finally found a way to circumvent them without raising any alarm. Lucky for Death, she was an Unspeakable and had a thorough knowledge of wards and curse-breaking or she would have never gotten through that door without having Mr Potter come running. However, there would be no pretending she was looking for the bathroom now.

Hermione slipped into the room, happy to see it was indeed a private office of sorts, full of ledgers, parchment, letters, books, inkwells and quills. No cloak in sight but she had not expected it to be this easy, so she foraged around until she had to resolve herself to the fact that it had to be either in the locked trunk or the locked desk. She wondered if she should just eeny-meeny-miny-moe between the two when she remembered Harry always stuffed it in his trunk, even later on in life when he had his own study. 

_ Let’s see if this runs in the family too. _

Unfortunately, the trunk was evil. You’d have to be desperate to try to break into it, not mention the duress of time and discovery was not helping matters. Hermione was thoroughly tempted to just take it whole and try to undo the protections carefully, one after the other, until there wasn’t the smallest of chance left that she would have the thing blow up in her face or curse her so badly her own bowels would be trying to strangle her. Positively evil. Hermione wondered if the Potter's usually dabbled in the Dark Art, or if it was his wife who had done some of the warding. She was a Black, and they’d always been taught dark curses from a young age as a matter of fact.

Well, nothing for it. She dug under her dress for the elder wand and cast a Protego as well as a Muffliato before jabbing carelessly at the trunk, setting off the traps one after the other. It was a crude way to get the trunk accessible, somewhat like when muggles set off a bomb instead of trying to disarm it. Less dangerous if you took the right precautions, but noisy and messy. Fortunately the magical shield cast by the elder wand was more than enough protection and this way was quickest: in less than five minutes, the trunk was as dangerous as a flobberworm.

Hermione dug around the various items, some objects of value and others whose value was more likely sentimental, until she found the cloak: it’s shimmering texture so familiar to her, it was like seeing a piece of home. She thought she heard a sigh of relief from behind her, but if Death was present in the room, he wasn’t showing himself. She shook out the cloak and a couple of mothballs fell out, the smell thankfully faint. It seemed Mr Potter the elder did not use his cloak much, which meant he wouldn’t notice its absence too soon.

All three Hallows were in her possession. She had actually accomplished the mission Death had given her… she would be going back home soon.

She carefully closed the trunk, but knew she wouldn’t have time to replace the wards on it. Linus or her host might already be looking for her, and she’d rather not have to fight her way out of the mansion if she was caught red-handed stealing from Mr Potter. She had little doubt she wouldn't make it past the front door, even with the elder wand. Hermione stuffed the cloak under her dress, as if it was an underskirt and could just picture Death’s look of horror at his precious Hallow being used as a petticoat. She only had to hope nobody noticed her dress was a bit more puffy than it had been at the beginning of the Ball.

She strapped the elder wand back to her ankle and was out of the study with her heart beating so fast she felt dizzy. How long had it taken her total? Half an hour? More? Hermione bit her lip, trying to find an excuse for her long absence.

“There you are, dear!” Mrs Potter called from the entrance to the ballroom. “Linus was getting worried. Are you quite alright? You look a bit...flushed.”

“Ah...yes. Sorry about that. I was feeling a bit hot and thought some fresh air would do me good.”

Smooth, Hermione thought sarcastically, very smooth. A first year could have come up with a better excuse. In fact, she was pretty sure they  _ had _ used that very excuse in first year. Pathetic. But Mrs Potter merely hummed as she studied her before she reached a hand forward. Hermione almost flinched at the gesture when she realized her hostess was merely adjusting her dress near her shoulder. Her bandage was showing. A nervous giggle escaped her then cut off abruptly under Dorea Potter’s steely eyes.

“Linus mentioned you’d taken a bit of a tumble yesterday on a walk near Hogsmeade,” she said, her tone offhand, but her eyes reading every little tell Hermione had to offer. “He was a bit worried just now when he didn’t see you come back, and even mentioned that maybe he shouldn't have made you come, so I offered to go looking for you in the Lady’s room.”

“I didn't mean to make him worry. I’d better get back to him right away,” she said when really, she couldn't wait to get away from Mrs Potter. She never would have guessed Harry had someone so perceptive in his family tree.

“You do that, dear. But be sure to sit down for a bit, and don’t let him drag you on the dancefloor again before you’re well rested.”

Hermione nodded and hurried away from her sharp gaze. She’d feel better when she would be able to leave without arousing any suspicion. Soon, she hoped. She didn’t think the Potters suspected her of anything, nor had they any reason to check on their private study in the middle of their ball, but she knew things could go awry very quickly. She knew from experience that even the best laid plans went down the drain at least opportune moment and because of the tiniest detail, so she wasn’t counting herself out of the woods before she was back where she belonged. She half-expected Grindelwald to reappear now that she had collected all the Hallows, swooping in at the last minute to take them for himself, claim the title of Master of Death and win his pathetic revolution. It could literally turn the history of the wizarding world, if she hadn't done that already with her heavy-handed meddling. 

“Are you alright, Hermione?” Linus asked, hurrying to meet her. “You look awfully...fidgety.”

“No, I’m fine,” she said with a forced smile. “It’s a bit overwhelming, all these people…”

Dead people. Most of them were long gone in her time.

“I’m not used to such grand events…”

She avoided them like the plague, truth be told. They were full of sycophants and reporters out for a scoop, a piece of fame, while parasites and politicians were out to make a name for themselves… Harry had it worse, of course, but as the only girl of their little group, she hadn’t been spared, far from it.

“I can take you back home,” he offered, his eyes flitting about her person as if making sure she wasn’t going to break into pieces, then added in a near whisper. “I thought this might be too much, after what happened to you with… you know…”

“You-Know-Who?” she asked with amusement, which only made Linus more worried.

Private jokes weren’t so fun when you had no one to share them with after all. Harry would have laughed. He always liked a good joke. But he wasn't here.

“Come on, let’s dance,” she said taking his hand. “Let’s erase all your memories of cousin mothball.”

If it was the only way she could thank Linus for his kindness, and inadvertently provide her with a way to get her hands on the last Hallow, she’d make damn sure this was the best All Hallow’s Eve Ball he had. He would hate her enough as it was once he put all the pieces together and realized what she’d done… because he wasn't stupid, he would eventually. 

She had a good time herself, she’d had to admit later. Linus was so kind, and funny. It was much more enjoyable than her Yule Ball at Hogwarts or any of the others she’d attended since, and she almost forgot she was wearing the stolen cloak and parading with it right in front of its owner’s unsuspecting eyes. He’d probably hate her too, but she had not time to dwell on that because guests were starting to trickle out of the ballroom. They joined the queue to thank their hosts when there was a commotion up ahead. A few minutes later, Mrs Potter made a beeline for them with her husband in tow. Hermione almost had a heart attack, thinking she'd been discovered, but she couldn't muster the courage to fight or even flee. She stood frozen in place and gripped Linus’ arm so tightly she'd probably leave a bruise. 

“What?” Linus asked, alarmed. “What happened?”

But Mrs Potter was looking straight at Hermione with that sharp Black gaze of hers and Hermione blanched, waiting for the accusing finger to be pointed at her, to be denounced as a thief and arrested on the spot by people she care too much about to hurt. Linus really would hate her. thankfully, she got it all wrong. 

“Grindelwald. He’s holding hostages right in the middle of Diagon Alley where that duel happened and says he’ll kill one every ten minutes until the Grey Lady is turned over to him. It’s you isn’t it? You’re the Grey Lady?”

Linus pulled her closer to him while the shock washed over her. This shouldn’t have happened. She couldn’t let innocent people, who should not have died, get executed because of her meddling in the past. That  _ wasn’t _ part of the deal. She heard Linus try to deny Mrs Potter’s claim but the woman scoffed at him.

“Come off it, Linus. She comes out of nowhere, has been recently injured and has curly dark hair.” 

Hermione touched her hair reflexively, thinking it had somehow returned to its natural state but only met the sleek straight hair she had magically obtained instead. Mrs Potter smirked.

“You magicked your hair  _ after  _ getting dressed dear. I found a curly hair clinging to your sleeve when I straightened your dress.”

Hermione nodded because she couldn't insult her sharp wit by denying it. Besides, she was already of the mind of doing something about Grindelwald. She stepped away from Linus.

“You can’t go, Hermione,” he protested, catching her chin to force her to look up at him. 

The puppy dog eyes were not even done on purpose, he was sincerely worried. She looked away. 

“You almost died last time.”

“I have to go. You know I do, Linus. I can’t let people die because of me… Listen, don’t worry about me. I'll be fine.”

“Don’t worry? Hermione, this is  _ Grindelwald _ we’re talking about! You can’t just go there alone, he’ll kill you as soon as look at you.”

“No… he might try, but Death… No, it's not my time. I  _ have _ to go, Linus. Now. I’m sorry.”

She kissed his cheek again and he relinquished his hold on her, his shoulders slumped.

“You have seven minutes left to get there,” Mr Potter announced, having whipped out his pocket watch. “Do you have a plan? The aurors will already be down there. Albus too, I suspect.”

“Albus Dumbledore?” she asked feeling a knot form at the pit of her stomach.

Mr Potter nodded and was about to add something when her wife stepped in and ushered Hermione towards the exit, grabbing her coat on the way out. Hermione put it on as she walked, cursing that she would have to do this wearing a ball gown of all things.

“Here,” Mrs Potter said handing her a pot of floo. “It’ll be quicker than walking to the edge of the wards to apparate. Floo to the Leaky Cauldron, that’s always open and close enough to where you need to go.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said and took a handful of the glitter powder.

“You just make sure you get those people out of there and… do be careful. Linus really likes you.”

“He’s better off without me,” she muttered before throwing the floo powder and calling her destination, coughing out soot when she stumbled into the Leaky Cauldron. The place was teeming with activity, people who had fled from Diagon Alley, others who arrived to get in on the excitement but all heads swivelled around when she stepped out. 

“Someone called for me?” she said, patting the dirt off her blue coat. With the amount of soot she was covered in, it actually looked more grey than blue.

No one answered, or tried to stop her for that matter, so she walked out towards the exit, hearing the people behind her spread rumours of the Gray Lady’s arrival, which was a good thing since a passage opened for her without her even having to ask and she didn’t have anytime to waste before Grindelwald started putting his threat to execution.

“Death?” she called out once she was out in the street, seeing the aurors’ scarlet robes billowing around up ahead. “Any idea would be welcome right about now.”

“You’re not handing over my Hallows,” came the deathly whisper.

“Of course not. I’m not  _ that _ daft. But I can’t let him kill people who weren’t supposed to die. That can’t be right in your books either. Wouldn’t it… I don’t know… upset the balance or something.”

“It does, usually, but not in times such as these where there’s such a strong stream of departing souls, the balance is already upset.”

“But still, this isn't right… I'm not letting them die, whether you agree or not. I'd rather die trying.”

Death sighed, the sound like wind rustling through dried leaves in the autumn. She was about to go without him, they didn't have time to dilly-dally.

“Use the Hallows,” Death rasped.

“What? All of them? You told me not too, and no offense, but I really don’t want to use the stone.”

Hermione opened her mouth to continue, she had many more objections where that cane from, but Death raised one bony finger.

“No time. Obey, child.”

Hermione huffed but took the cloak and elder wand out of under her skirts, smirking when Death made a strangled sound. She put the cloak on her shoulder with the hood up, disappearing almost entirely, but cast a lumos with her wand. Only the stone left to use, but there was no one she could think of calling, not in this time.

“Arianna Dumbledore,” Death whispered and Hermione obeyed, because that was smart, cruel but smart.

“Arianna Dumbledore” she told the stone flipping it three times and holding it tight in her hand while keeping the image of the girl in the portrait in the Hog’s Head to the forefront of her mind.

She wasn’t sure how the stone worked exactly and thought it would be better to overdo it than not. The little girl from the painting appeared, not a ghost, but not a real person either. A shade Harry had called them. Hermione didn’t feel any different after using all the Hallows at once though, even if she was technically the Master of Death now, and she wondered why Death had cautioned her against it.

“Follow me,” she told the girl and hid completely under the cloak, looking like the shade of Arianna was there on her own.

The aurors moved away when she approached, nudging those who hadn’t seen the apparition yet, wondering if that little girl was the Grey Lady. She certainly looked gray and most definitely not alive. The aurors had been holding their wands on Grindelwald and his men while Albus Dumbledore was trying to talk him out of it. Hermione winced, she hadn’t wanted to hurt her old headmaster and had really hoped he wasn’t here yet, but Fate was a bitch and liked to make her life miserable.

Grindelwald looked triumphant for a second before he recognized the shade.

“Arianna?” he whispered, causing Dumbledore to turn around too, his face ghostly white. 

Hermione walked right up to them and whispered to Arianna to wait there to quietly take out Grindelwald’s men while everyone was too busy looking at the shade and the two powerful wizards facing one another. She then ordered the hostages to flee quietly down the alley and they obeyed, probably thinking she was with the aurors, but Grindelwald finally noticed what was going on behind him and started shooting spells at the last few people who’d been too slow to run away and hide. Hermione let go of the stone to throw as wide a shield as she could muster. It was much larger than what she was used to but she realized she was holding it with both wands.

“Show yourself, Grey Lady,” Grindelwald ordered.

Hermione could just leave now, but she had to make him understand, and all those who sought the Deathly Hallows that they were a thing of the past now, so she showed herself. Everyone recoiled… not the reaction she’d expected, really, but she’d go with it.

“It’s the curse of the Master of Death,” Death whispered. “Do what you have to do and I’ll take you with me back to the void.”

“This is it, then?” she whispered.

“This is it.”

“What are you?” Grindelwald asked but his voice was not as haughty as usual.

“Isn’t it obvious?” she snarked.

“Death,” Grindelwald breathed out.

He said it with such certainty that Hermione was hard pressed to hide her surprise, wondering what the wannabe Dark Lord was on about now. Hermione looked down at her hands, discreetly, and yes, they were bony, just as bony as Death's. Right. Now she knew what he’d meant by “the curse of the Master of Death”. She thought he’d just been waxing poetic on her. She hoped it rubbed off once Death retrieved his Hallows. She wondered why Harry had never mentioned it, but then recalled he probably had never used all three Hallows at the same time despite being in possession of each one at some point. Had he not truly been the Master of Death then? She hoped Death would tell her before he sent her back. The title had scared Harry so maybe she could put his mind at ease.

“The Hallows…” Grindelwald said, looking them over greedily.

“Are coming back with me. It is high time they left this world.”

On cue, Death did the only sensible thing since this whole affair started and took her away from this time and place where she didn't belong, and back to the void where she had first met him.

“Do you think it worked?” she asked.

“I know it did.”

“Good. So please tell me I’m not stuck looking like this,” she shoved her bony hand in his face...skull.

“I think it’s an improvement.”

“You would,” she snorted. “Right, so… Sending me back to my own time now? How does it work? Do you get me there right before the incident happens so I can stop it or can you just make it so I don’t die? I’ve been thinking about it and it might be best if you drop me right after the incident if that’s possible so I can...”

Her voice trailed off. Death was fidgeting, like Ron did when he took the last treacle tart and his mother was staring him down.

“You  _ can _ send me back, right? That was our deal.”

“I can.”

“Then what's wrong?”

No answer. Hermione frowned. Death gritted his teeth.

“Give me my Hallows back and I’ll tell you.”

“No, tell me and I…  _ might  _ give you your Hallows back.”

Death clenched his bony fists and glared at her. Or she supposed he was. Again, the lack of eyeballs was disconcerting.

“You… Erm… didn’t really die.”

“What?! You said I did! Why do you think I’ve been running around, doing your bidding? And why the hell would I be here speaking to Death if I’m not, in fact, dead?”

“You’re not really alive either.”

“I… don’t understand. You’re either dead or you’re not, how can you be neither?”

“You played with Time. Your experiment turned against you in a most unexpected way, trapping you in a small time loop. You have seen one such before.”

Hermione nodded, remembering the Bell Jar where a hummingbird hatched and flew away, repeating the scene over and over, and she wondered if she had become the new curiosity down in the Department of Mysteries.

“Wait a minute, you lied to me! You said you’d return me to the world of the living. I was pretty specific about that.”

“Well…”

“Baldur’s briefs! Were you going to return me to the time loop for all eternity. After I helped you? Is that how you were going to repay me for returning your bloody Hallows?”

“I...No? Not if you didn't want to...”

“Of course I bloody don't want to!” Hermione screeched, feeling she might have a panic attack like she did during her NEWTs.”

“Right. I anticipated that might be the case, so I thought I could return you as a ghost instead? That seems more humane. There are some perfectly nice ghosts out there, well adjusted to life. I hear one is even employed as a teacher at Hogwarts. I'm sure you'll fit right in.”

“No!”

“Well, what else do you expect me to do? You brought this on yourself, meddling with Time. Honestly, you mortals can be so reckless with your squishy little bodies.”

“So those are my only options? Go back as a ghost or stuck in a time loop. Honestly, I’m not sure which one is worse.”

“I could claim your soul and let you move on, but that’s highly irregular. I’d be doing you a  _ huge _ favour.”

“Oh, you’re offering to kill me for my own sake. That’s so nice of you. Remind me never to help you again if that's all the thanks I get.”

“Sarcasm?” Death asked, his skull cocked slightly to the right

Hermione rolled her eyes, if only because  _ he  _ couldn’t, then argued:

“But I was in 1943. I  _ have  _ a body. Why can’t you just send me back as I am? I don’t understand.”

“I can’t allow people to cheat their Fate. For that very same reason, I allowed you to save those mortals back there: it was not to be their Fate.”

“But you can cheat me? How is that fair?”

“I needed your skills.”

“And now you don’t need me anymore, is that it?”

Death said nothing, which was answer enough. But she couldn’t accept this. Dying or as good as… or maybe not. She shouldn’t trust one word he said.

“Send me back. Alive.”

“Give me back my Hallows.”

So, a standstill. Were they going to stare each other down until the ends of time? Because  _ she _ sure wasn’t backing down. But then, Death moved, and grew to an unnatural size picking her out of the darkness by the neck of her robes and dangling her like a rag doll.

“My Hallows!” he boomed.

“Piss off!” she shot back, trying to kick him and scratch at his bony fingers, scared out of her mind. Could he just take the Hallows from her. She thought she had some kind of leverage if she was the Master of Death, but this didn’t look like she was mastering anything at all.

“I’ll just pluck them off your dead body, then. You die, go on to the next great adventure, and I get my Hallows back. Everyone is happy.”

“I won’t be happy! I’ll be dead!” she wanted to scream but could only struggle against the giant hand that was doing a good job at strangling her before a blue light appeared, turned into a window overlooking a sprawling modern city… New York? That was the Empire State building as far as she could make out, but before she could understand what Death’s plans were, he dropped her down on  the window’s ledge, then blew a puff of cold air at her, sending her toppling over the edge, effectively putting an end to the negotiation. All Hermione could do was scream her head off as she dropped through the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it for the first part. I know it sort of end on a cliffhanger (yes, I know it totally does) but look out for the next installement, Death's Curse which will take Hermione into the world of the Avengers!


End file.
